


The Grove

by MusingsOnBuckyBarnes



Category: The Witcher (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Jaskier | Dandelion Saves the Day, M/M, No actual sex with a waterfall just to clarify, Post-Episode: s01e05 Bottled Appetites, Sorta zombie adversary, hidden perils of waterfall sex, waterfall sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-09
Updated: 2020-08-09
Packaged: 2021-03-05 21:20:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25802014
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MusingsOnBuckyBarnes/pseuds/MusingsOnBuckyBarnes
Summary: Jaskier may not be a warrior, but his charm and creativity can still save the day. Even when he’s naked. *Especially* when he’s naked.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Kudos: 49





	The Grove

**Author's Note:**

> I don't think the love scenes in this fic are detailed enough to bump the rating up to Mature, but if you think it should be, let me know.

xXx

“We’re camping here?” Jaskier asked in surprise.

Geralt nodded and watched him gaze around the clearing. The Witcher had taken them away from the main road, through a hard-to-see path in the woods. On one side of the clearing, rock walls rose up.

His bard shrugged. “Doesn’t look like much, and we’ve still got plenty of daylight left.”

Geralt smiled. “I thought you might like its hidden attraction.”

Jaskier looked around again, considering, then cocked his head. “I can hear water…?”

Geralt left Roach grazing and led Jaskier along a short, narrow path through the rock walls. The path opened up into a little glade that made Jaskier exclaim in delight, as Geralt knew he would. It was beautiful. Even a Witcher could acknowledge that. Waterfalls of various sizes flowed down the walls, landing in a pool and on slabs and boulders, then the water went away underground. The surroundings were vibrant green with moss and decorated with bright flowers. A mini rainbow shone in the mist. It was a perfect spot for bathing or relaxing or contemplation.

Jaskier clapped his hands. “A shower and a bath together! And in such splendour.” Then he had another look. “What’s that sparkling on some of the walls? That’s more than the sunlight.”

“The sun is hitting a kind of phosphorous moss.” Geralt showed him and ran his fingers over a patch of it. His fingers then glittered. “It’s even edible.”

“This is wonderful. Thank you.”

Geralt was pleased with his reaction. Since their encounter with the djinn, things had changed between them. It had made Geralt realise how important Jaskier was to him, and that it wasn’t just as a friend either. He kept wanting to give Jaskier things, like courtship gifts, but that was difficult when they travelled so much.

The bard said, “This reminds me of the setting of an old ballad. Of three knights returning home from a war, but one of them developed an infection from a relatively minor wound. They found a glade like this for him to rest in, in the hope that he would recover, as he wanted to see his home again. But he died and they buried him in the forest nearby. Or one version said they cremated him so that they could take his ashes home.”

“Was that the ballad where they buried him with some of his share of the treasure as his grave goods, and when they got home his relatives complained that the treasure would have been better served going to them instead?”

“Yes.” Jaskier pulled a face. “Not my favourite stanzas of the song. I’m not surprised that they often get left out.”

“Some of the ballad may have been true. This is the region of Ruehl, and I have heard a version of that song or tale where it was set in or near Ruehl. This glade is hard for people to find and illegal for them to do so, for a long time, anyway. It’s on royal land, but long ago I was granted use of it and shown its location by a queen after I killed a monster for her.”

They went back to the camp, where Jaskier picked up some of the saddlebags. “Can I use a little of the blue oil after I bathe, please?” Jaskier loved the smell of that oil and how soft it made his hands and feet feel, especially after long walks.

“Yes, but make sure not to drink from the orange tonic bottle.”

“I know. I know. It’ll turn my dick orange!”

Then Jaskier raised his eyebrow and asked Geralt if he was going to use the pool too. It was a loaded and hopeful suggestion, and not just about bathing. Geralt was very tempted. It would be a great spot for their first time. But he had to sort out Roach first. Jaskier would probably be in the grotto for a while. There was plenty of time.

Geralt explained this. “And I’ll ward the camp.” Since there was only one way in and out of the grotto, it was best to take some precautions.

Jaskier gathered everything he seemed to think he’d need (which looked like most of their kit), and went away, whistling. Geralt smiled and set about doing the wards.

When the barrier was in place and secure, Geralt took off his swords and finished seeing to Roach. There was a small stream at the end of the clearing furthest from the rock walls, just inside one edge of the barrier, so she could drink there.

“There’s water and good grass for you here, Roach. Plenty to keep you occupied while we’re …” He trailed off and shrugged to himself and to her.

Roach gave him what he swore was an amused look. Well, she had put up with their idiocy for years.

Geralt heard someone approaching the clearing. Hopefully they were not about to be accused of trespass by a royal soldier. That would be their typical luck.

A man then appeared from the forest and stepped into the campsite like the wards weren’t even there.

The man – if it was a man – was wearing a torc. Geralt could sense the magic coming off it as it sparkled in the sun around the stranger’s neck. That’s how he’d gotten through.

He was in a uniform and armour that Geralt hadn’t seen worn by any army in his long lifetime but he had seen it in paintings made several hundred years ago. The insignia was of Ruehl.

This was the knight from the ballad. In the reanimated flesh.

Fuck.

The knight’s face was eerily pale. He held a sword, pointing it at Geralt.

The man was dead but didn’t know it. Somehow, the torc had brought him back just enough, zombie-like. Perhaps when Jaskier had spoken his name here. Or the ward magic had stirred things up.

The dead knight either seemed to think that the war was still on or that Geralt was trespassing and advanced on him.

Geralt tried talking to him, but there was no response apart from an attack.

Was there enough of him left in there for Geralt to reason with? The torc was making the soldier a deadly threat. The Witcher could sense the power, the strength, that the torc was providing his adversary.

Aard and axii had no effect. Geralt grabbed his swords but any blows that he delivered were negligible. Something was stopping them before they reached the knight.

Meanwhile, Jaskier was probably bathing, oblivious, unable to hear all this over the noise of the water.

The Witcher’s mind raced through strategies. Could he get that torc off the zombie somehow? Through cutting his head off? But the power that the torc was generating was acting like a personal shield.

Geralt dodged or parried the blows, grunting at the force required. Igni and yrden also didn’t work. The same with quen.

He had to stop this threat before it hurt Jaskier or Roach or himself.

_“Who dares disturb my sacred site?”_

Witcher and knight leapt apart and turned to look at the entrance to the grove.

Jaskier stepped into the camp. It was quite an arrival – lacking in clothes for a start.

He was stark naked, with water dripping down his not-unimpressive body. There was phosphorous glitter on his chest and neck and arms, like he had quickly slapped some on there for effect. Jaskier’s wet hair was standing up wild on his head, hastily finger-combed.

And his eyes… He’d drunk some of Geralt’s cat’s eyes potion. Those beautiful grey-blue eyes were now feline, with black vertical irises due to this bright sunny day. Jaskier had also done something to his voice to make it sound otherworldly; whether by potion or drawing on his own talents, Geralt wasn’t sure.

What was certain was the powerful, sexy way Jaskier strode into the camp like he owned it, like he really was some kind of otherworldly water spirit or being, unfazed at his nakedness and by the situation. It completely took their ‘guest’ by surprise – there must be some intellect still in there after all. Jaskier looked fey, alien.

_“Get away from him,”_ Jaskier said commandingly. _“I will not have blood spilled here. Especially not that of my consort.”_

Jaskier’s performance and appearance made the knight pause. The man seemed to think that Jaskier really was some glade spirit.

The bard continued, _“The war is over. Sheath your sword.”_

Geralt braced for a fight. There was a long pause before the knight finally did put his sword away in the tattered, rotting remnants of the sheath. 

While the zombie’s gaze was on Jaskier, Geralt tried to subtly signal to the bard to make the man take off his torc.

Jaskier noticed. _“Leave the necklace here as a gift to me.”_

The knight bowed and knelt. He removed the torc and went to place it on the ground, like an offering. But then an expression crossed his face – peace? – and his skin turned grey and then his body crumpled to dust and bits of bone. The torc dropped onto the grass. The remaining armour, rags and sheathed sword collapsed to the ground.

Geralt went over to pick up the torc, just in case it started to reanimate the dust. “We’ll get it checked out by Yennefer to see what its powers are and if it needs to be destroyed.”

_“She’ll probably keep it for her own ends.”_ Jaskier coughed and reverted to his own voice. “The tragic knight of Ruehl! The poor man. At least he’s at peace now. Well, that was an experience! And how long will my eyes be like this for? I’ll be able to see in the dark tonight! This is an amazing point of view to see the world from.”

“Depends how much you took.” Geralt was doing his best not to react to what had just happened.

“I think I left the antidote here in camp.” Jaskier went looking for it in another bag, while giving Geralt a view of his considerable rear end assets while bending over.

_Sweet Melitele…_

Geralt distracted himself by examining the torc. “I think this was made to be worn by elves – not for humans.”

After managing a discussion about how much of the potion Jaskier had swallowed and how much antidote he should take, Jaskier quaffed the agreed measure of the latter. He still hadn’t bothered to cover his nakedness. There was no need really. They’d seen each other naked so often. Still…

Geralt couldn’t help staring. Jaskier noticed and quirked an eyebrow at him. The Witcher tried to cover his reaction by saying, “Trust you to save us by talking.”

“By my _showmanship_ , thank you! You’re welcome.”

Charm to burn, that bard. Even without his lute.

“How did you know that something was going on?” Geralt asked.

Jaskier shrugged. “I had a feeling that something was wrong. I peeked out of the grotto and saw that knight, and then I _knew_ something was wrong. So, I improvised. I was tempted to go for the orange dick as well, to really sell the otherworldly bit, but I didn’t want to waste any more time. Just as well it did convince him, otherwise it all would have been for nothing.”  
  


Jaskier then put a blanket over the pile of dust and secured it there with a few rocks.

“What are you doing?” Geralt asked, though he had a feeling he already knew.

“After we’ve finished in the glade, we can give him a proper burial, without the torc, or take his ashes to his home, for internment there. So he can finally make it home.”

Geralt had been correct. “All right.”

“I wonder why the powers of the torc didn’t heal or help the knight when he was dying of that infected wound? Oh, perhaps he wasn’t wearing the torc at the time. They were probably carrying it in their baggage and just thought it was an ordinary, expensive necklace, and then put it on him after he was dead and the grave had been dug.”

Then the bard walked right up to Geralt and gave him a kiss, their first kiss, that managed to be sweet, loving and sexy, yet shy, all at once.

The encounter with a zombie hadn’t dampened his ardour, it seemed.

Jaskier blinked restored, bright grey-blue eyes at him. “Well, I’m going to resume my rudely interrupted bath time.” He gave Geralt a look as he moved off. That sassy walk. With added droplets of water and sparkling glitter and tight, naked musculature. His legs were so _long_. And as for…

Jaskier smiled. “Are you coming?”

Geralt couldn’t help but reply in a voice even hoarser than usual: “Hmmmm…”

The bard easily translated this into _I certainly will be soon_ , gave a huge grin and sauntered off to the grotto.

Geralt redid the warding with a new spell, making himself do so carefully and methodically, then he quickly pulled off his boots and shirt, picked up the torc and his swords (just in case) and headed along the path.

In the glade, Geralt put the items up on a little ledge where Jaskier had placed the saddlebags, out of the way of the water, but near enough if needed. There were potion bottles strewn around the saddlebags on the ledge, evidence of Jaskier’s haste to rush to Geralt’s rescue.

The bard had spread out a blanket on a slab of rock that was a good size for two besotted men to lay down on. Numerous little waterfalls curtained down on both sides of it. The blanket was now soaked, but that didn’t matter. The slab was on a bit of an angle but not enough to dump them into the pool or onto rocks. The phosphorous moss sparkled like Jaskier’s eyes.

And Geralt was glad that Jaskier’s eyes were back to normal while they did this. If ‘normal’ could ever describe that incredible gaze that one could get lost in. He lay down on the slab and entangled himself in the bard’s arms and legs and body. _Finally_ they could touch properly.

As they got to know each other intimately, a foot or an arm would end up in the water or coated in spray or drenched. Geralt licked and nipped at Jaskier’s throat, then lower, then raised up and went to kiss Jaskier again on the face, only for Jaskier to dissolve into helpless giggles.

“Your tongue is SILVER!”

Geralt groaned. “Fucking phosphorous… _You’re_ the silver-tongued one.”

He quickly turned the bard’s laughter into gasps and moans. Lost in their passion, they rolled a bit too far to the right on the slab and their heads ended up directly under the pouring water.

Cue much flailing, spluttering and swearing from both parties as water went up their noses (not pleasant even for a big strong Witcher) and in their eyes and mouths. They coughed and Jaskier’s elbow accidentally hit Geralt’s nose and made him sneeze. Which was at least on way to get rid of that water. Jaskier started laughing again, in-between spluttering out water from a couple of orifices. 

When he calmed down somewhat, the bard said, “I hope putting on that voice didn’t ruin my singing for a few days. I’ve got that festival coming up.”

Geralt then took that as a challenge to do things to make Jaskier give very vocal reactions, which showed that he was fine.

At one point, they rolled a bit more to the left and then Jaskier went: “Ouch! I think there’s a pebble under my arse… At least it’s worn smooth by all this water.”

They vanquished that foe then got lost in each other again.

After a very agreeable and passionate round one, Geralt chased droplets down Jaskier’s form. The sun shone on the water rivulets and on the glitter that was now on both their bodies. Then things fired up again, broken by a brief hunt for just where a certain bottle of lotion had ended up…

After round two, when they were lying there, recovering, Jaskier said: “The ballad I’m going to create for this!”

Geralt somehow resisted the urge to push Jaskier off the rock into the pool. And it was unfair that he was getting a cold shower of sorts but no cooling effect due to his rock mate.

Jaskier smiled. “I need another shower now.”

Geralt shrugged. “I’ll roll our lower halves two feet over and you’ll get one!” At least it was an easy clean up.

Jaskier snuggled up to Geralt. “That was incredible.”

The Witcher nodded, embracing him. “And in the village we can make love in a proper bed, without a deluge.”

Geralt had always appreciated this spot as a thing of beauty. From now on, he wouldn’t be able to even _think_ about it without needing a cold shower. Which was a fair enough trade-off.

xXx

The end.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Cass for reading an early draft of this and for her suggestions. 
> 
> I read in another fic where Geralt uses ward spells to keep the campsite and inn room secure when he is travelling with Ciri. I’m not sure if it was something from the books or show. So I borrowed it here. (The fic was The Things You Overhear Hidden In A Haystack by DestielTheShipOfDreams.)


End file.
